


Let the Memory Live Again

by ladyarcherfan3



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:57:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyarcherfan3/pseuds/ladyarcherfan3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thea had left her old life behind, but it didn't mean she'd forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the Memory Live Again

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this photo: http://40.media.tumblr.com/50d1fd284e8c6acf4017d21fb88729e6/tumblr_mvhli0OPG71rdg0qvo1_500.jpg  
> Title from "Memories" from Cats: The Musical

She hadn’t been on a horse for years, ever since she’d fallen off and broken her arm, but when Malcolm added it to her training, at least she wasn’t completely unfamiliar. That, however, was rather worse; the swords and hand to hand and the archery were all brand new, she had nothing but a few dance lessons to inform her body and stance and only some movie informed expectations for when she first swung the blade through the air and looked down an arrow to aim. But she remembered riding, she remembered why she stopped riding. So when she swung into the saddle, the horse small and quick and dancing as she hooked her toes in the stirrups, her legs clenched too hard and her hands shook and were damp with sweat as she struggled to figure out how to go without worrying about the reins and rather a sword or bow. 

It took a while but she picked it up, or had it forced on her by Malcolm intensity. She pushed past her initial fear and hesitation and she pushed the memories it brought up. It was not just the remembered feeling a floating just before the sharp shock of the ground. It was also the snap and flash of pain as she instinctively threw out her arm to stop the fall and the bone giving way under the pressure. And then Oliver’s voice was calling for her, his shadow and then his arms wrapped around her as tears and pain shook her. She’d forgotten he was even there, even if he always drove her to her lessons. But his constant flirting with the female instructors and riders made her want to disown him and forcefully ignore him while they were at the stable. She needed him, and he was there picking her up and whispering reassurances. 

“It's okay Speedy; you'll be fine. I've got you. You'll be up on that stupid horse again in no time. I'm here.” 

But she didn’t get on a horse again, too scared and proud. Then he disappeared into the sea with their father; then she lost him to lies. She shoved all of that out of her mind as she galloped through the heat of a Corto Maltese day, Malcolm shouting instructions at her. She lifted the bow and drew, knees and thighs and calves guiding the horse towards the targets as the arrows hissed out and hit at bulls eyes or the next circle. The swell of pride and satisfaction was so strong, and mingled with the smell of dirt and horse, that when she turned at the end of the line she half expected Oliver to be there cheering like he had at her first and only show. But there was only Malcolm, looking proud and satisfied and while she was grateful to have found a father who didn’t lie to her, something was missing. 

She found herself only wanting her brother.


End file.
